


Love Lockdown

by ShinSolo



Category: 30 Seconds to Mars, Kanye West - Fandom, Lil'Wayne
Genre: Anal Beads, Bondage, M/M, Past Kanye/Lil'Wayne, Suicide, scarfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:57:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShinSolo/pseuds/ShinSolo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared laughed and playfully bit into Kanye’s tongue before shoving him away again. And once more he found himself wondering if this whole night was just a game to Jared – see how long it will take him to get Kanye West in bed, bonus points if you get him without having to drug him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Lockdown

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite a random piece and since I knew nothing about most of these characters before writing this, a lot of research was needed. Please excuse anything that might be out of character.

 

**Love Lockdown:**

 

The phone had been ringing on and off for the past thirty-six hours and he hadn’t answered it once. He also hadn’t slept. The floor of his bedroom was hidden somewhere beneath what had been a steadily growing pile of beer cans before he’d ran out and switched to straight liquor. There were two empty bottles laying on the floor near the nightstand, another had rolled under the bed, and the quart of cognac he still held in his hand was a little less than halfway full. Sometime during the night he had fallen from the bed and hadn’t bothered getting back up. He found the tight space between the bed and the wall more comforting – like a jail cell – and told himself he deserved to be there.

 

He closed his eyes as the phone once again began to ring and tears welled up in bloodshot eyes. He didn’t want to talk to anyone – at least not anyone that had been calling – but he refused to turn the phone off. To do so would be to give up hope, would require facing reality and accepting that he was never going to wake up. He was never going to hear his voice anywhere else beside his nightmares and old recordings. And despite how much it hurt, it was his fault. He did it.

 

Sometime before 6am he had lost track of the hours and the ringing became a distant hum. He didn’t realize when the alarm clock went off or know how long the radio had been playing before he heard his name, before he knew they all knew.

 

“ . . . was found dead this morning in an L.A. hotel room. Authorities report the actor/musician passed away sometime early Monday morning and that foul play is believed to have been involved. No other information has been released at this time and no one has of yet been able to obtain any official statement from the deceased’s family or remaining band mates. Jared Leto was thirty-seven years old . . .”

 

The clock-radio came crashing to the floor as he struggled to turn it off. The bottle slipped from his fingers, spilling the amber liquor onto white carpet. And knowing there was nothing he could do, Kanye laid on the wet floor and cried.

 

*****

 

“What about aretifism, hum?” he asked, leaning over the table a little and nudging the other man’s leg with the toe of his shoe. “You a foot man, Mr. West?”

 

“Women’s. I like women’s feet, Leto.” Kanye smirked and shook his head at the man before him. He’d originally come to the club to meet up with a few guys he’d been hoping to work with on his next album, but Jared Leto had showed up out of nowhere, pushing his way into everyone’s conversations without even intending to. It had been Kanye who suggested he sit down with them, have a few drinks. He hadn’t expected the sudden addition to the table to cause Young Jeezy and the girl he’d showed up with to leave immediately. Two others followed suit a few moments later. Rudolf had stuck around the longest and Kanye found himself wondering if he had only done so out of respect for a member of his fellow race – he somehow doubted it, but then again he still didn’t know why he was still there either. Maybe he just felt guilty for the older man’s condition, maybe he just didn’t have anywhere else to be on a Sunday night and didn’t want to admit it. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that every time he’d tried to leave, Jared had countered his goodbyes with another question, another statement, another drunken confession.

 

“What? Like when they’re wrapped around your cock? You like it when women jack you off with their feet?” Jared laughed, but it wasn’t out of amusement, more like he viewed Kanye as a complicated puzzle he was finally getting close to solving. “Or is it Katoptronophilia? Cause if that’s your thing, I know this great place . . .”

 

“You’re drunk,” Kanye stated, studying Jared a moment and taking another drink from his own glass. Things had been progressing in this manner for almost an hour now – Jared listing off one fetish after another and gauging his reactions. Kanye couldn’t remember what had started them off on this topic, and was growing ever more anxious about where it might be leading.

 

“Not yet, I’m just trying to understand,” Jared said as he licked his lips and traced an unknown word or shape into the condensation that had collected on the table before wiping it away with the palm of his hand. Every now and then he would reach up as if to push his hair back out of his face only to frown when his fingers connected with his hat. He needed to shave and had yet to remove his sunglasses even though the sun had set about eight hours ago. Kanye felt the beard and fedora made him look like some kind of stylish, undercover Amish man, but he wasn’t sure why. “I mean, not everyone can get off to, say . . . autassassinophilia – for example. There’s a lot to be learned from a man’s -philias of choice.”

 

Kanye stared blankly at Jared for a moment, “Auto-assassin-a-what?”

 

“Mock executions, my friend,” he explained in a hushed whisper as he looked over his shoulder. Everyone else had already gone home except for the closing staff, and the club was growing emptier by the minute. Kanye wondered if the two of them would have even still been sitting there had they been anyone else besides Kanye West and Jared Leto. In the unusual silence, Jared’s whispers sounded louder than his speaking voice and Kanye shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Across the room one of the waitresses was watching the two of them as she counted her tips, but Jared continued on, oblivious to his surroundings. “You know . . . when someone gets off on planning their own deaths. I don’t know . . . I suppose I’d rather plan my death than die unexpectedly, but still . . . I don’t know if it would make me cum either way. Well, of course, if I died with a cock up my ass I might not be able to help myself, but I still don’t think it would be the dying part that would be the cause of it all, y’know? Kinda like that thing with you and Lil’Wayne . . .”

 

“No, I don’t know . . . And what the hell are you talking about – me and Weezy?” He asked uncomfortably. Jared’s hand clasped over his wrist, his eyes locking with Kanye’s for the first time from over his glasses. The lights behind the bar shut off and Jared’s grip on Kanye’s wrist tightened. Kanye pulled his hand away, suddenly wishing he’d ordered one more drink before the bar had closed. “Like I said, you’re drunk. How’d you get here anyways? That guy . . . Goddamn it . . . He left didn’t he? Shit . . .”

 

“Who? Tomo?” Jared actually giggled. “I’m not fucking him. Everyone thinks I’m fucking him – Brent, Shannon, even my own mother – but really, I’m not. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

 

“Do what to me? What the hell you talking about, Leto?”

 

“Oh! I think I finally got it, Kanye,” Jared said, ignoring the question and stressing both vowels in Kanye’s name like he had just pronounced both vowels in Leto. “Sthenolagnia and Asphyxiation . . . the perfect combination if you ask me.”

 

Kanye couldn’t do anything but sigh and shake his head.

 

“And just what’s that?” He said, not even looking at him as he pulled his jacket on and dialed 4-1-1 on his cell to call a cab to take Jared home.

 

“You know . . . when one person gets turned on by showing his strength over the other, and the other blows his load to strangulation – breath play?” Jared said, finally removing his glasses. His eyes darkened as he grinned and Kanye was taken back for a moment, wondering if the entire night had been one long game to Jared, if for some strange reason he had intended for this to happen exactly this way.

 

“Oh?” Kanye asked, reaching a hand out to help Jared to his feet.

 

“Cause you know . . .” Jared continued, his grin growing into a smirk as he stood up and lowered his voice so no one but Kanye could hear. His breath was hot against Kanye’s ear. “I’d love to have you on top of me, your hands tight around my throat while I cum harder than I’ve ever cum before.”

 

Kanye swallowed and subconsciously licked his lips before slipping the phone back in his pocket and shaking his head.

 

“Come on, Jared. I’ll take ya’ home.”

 

*****

 

Kanye woke up in bed, socks and shoes removed and undressed to the waist. He groaned as light hit his eyelids and clutched the covers like a security blanket, pulling them up over his head as he teetered on the edge of sleep and wakefulness. It was cold in the room and he didn’t know what day – or what time – it was, but he felt safe, safer than he had in days. Reality didn’t hit him until he opened his eyes.

 

The beer cans that were previously scattered across the carpet had been picked up and collected into a large black garbage bag left near the door. The curtains had been pushed back, the window opened letting cool fresh air and sunlight into the room, and a towel was on the floor near the bed. Someone had left a glass of ice water on the nightstand with a note that was so sloppily written Kanye couldn’t make out what it said past the first two words, “You should’ve . . .”

 

Weezy’s voice drifted to him from the other room as he talked on the phone or to himself, the occasionally changing rhythm of his words reminding Kanye of the way they’d written their last song together – standing around Kanye’s kitchen screaming momentarily catchy phrases back and forth at one another until they happened upon something they both considered brilliant. He had heard a rumor a while back that Weezy was working on a song with Fall Out Boy of all people, but he’d yet to hear it. He hadn’t heard anything from Weezy at all since they’d recorded, ‘See you in my Knightmares’ for the 808 album, and even then he’d had to email him the final cut because Weezy hadn’t bothered coming back into the studio to approve it in person. Kanye didn’t even know what had caused it. They’d just drifted apart.

 

He’d completely forgotten he’d given Weezy a key to his house until now, but despite how much he wanted to push everyone away he was glad Weezy was there, that he wasn’t alone – even if he knew he’d never be able to confess everything to Weezy, that he couldn’t even face what had happened himself.

 

He sat up and for a moment the room moved around him. His eyes burned from the night before and his saliva was so thick in his throat it took most of the water before he felt he could even tolerate calling out for Weezy or attempting to stand on his own two feet.

 

“You okay, man?” Weezy asked before Kanye could put the glass down. He hadn’t even had to call for him, he’d been waiting on him to wake up since he’d first gotten there and found the older man laying on the floor. “Heard ya’ movin’ in here finally.”

 

Kanye hung his head and looked away. He couldn’t cry anymore, but still felt utterly hopeless, lost. Weezy had once told him that no matter what trouble Kanye ever found himself in, all he had to do was talk to him and Weezy’d set it right, but Kanye knew this time nothing could be undone. The most Weezy could even hope to do would be to call the right people, help come up with a believable alibi, and even then it would take a miracle for the jury to believe any lie of innocents. Even if they came up with the lies for him to tell, Kanye didn’t think he’d be able to tell them. He’d break down in front of everyone and confess to everything. But even jail time couldn’t fix anything. It would just give him the chance to say he was sorry. If he confessed, he might still be able to be forgiven, achieve a sense of contrition, allow his family the feeling of revenge. Weezy put his hand on Kanye’s shoulder as he sat down next to him.

 

“There was a fed here lookin’ for your ass earlier, told him to come back with a fuckin’ arrest warrant if he wanted to take ya’ anywhere . . .” – Weezy pulled at one of his dreads while he spoke, his dark eyes locked on Kanye and voice lowered. – “He’s gonna come back, y’know. I ain’t gonna be able to hold them off foreva’ y’know. What’d ya’ do? ‘Cause I gotta know if I’m gonna help your ass outta this one.”

 

Kanye didn’t say anything for a long time, and when he did speak his voice was barely above a whisper. His hands were shaking as he clutched the bed sheets.

 

“I killed someone . . .”

 

Weezy didn’t even flinch, but his grip tightened on Kanye’s shoulder and he seemed to breathe a little deeper.

 

“Who?” He asked, turning Kanye’s face to look him in the eye, but Kanye pulled away from him. Weezy knew he wasn’t going to get an answer. “I’m calling my lawyers. Don’t worry . . . we’ll deal. Y’got me? We’ll deal.”

 

Kanye still didn’t answer.

 

*****

 

The night began with anal beads, proceeded only by drunken kisses and slurred words. Kanye couldn’t believe any of it was really happening, but he was past the point of caring. Jared lay naked on the hotel bed, his legs spread wide as he pushed the smallest of the beads on the chain into his own ass. Lube coated his hard cock, dripped down over and around his balls, and ran down between the cheeks of his ass. A second bead, followed by a third, fourth, and then finally fifth, joined the first and Kanye couldn’t help but moan at the sight before him, but Jared pushed him away.

 

“Not yet . . .” he whispered with a grin, his free hand smearing lube over his own chest as he began to tease one of his nipples between his fingers. “Jack off or something.”

 

“Fuck that,” Kanye responded, grabbing Jared by the jaw and forcing his tongue into his mouth. “You’ve been teasing me all fucking night, I ain’t gonna let you get away with it any longer.”

 

Jared laughed and playfully bit into Kanye’s tongue before shoving him away again. And once more he found himself wondering if this whole night was just a game to Jared – see how long it will take him to get Kanye West in bed, bonus points if you get him without having to drug him.

 

“I told you to wait your turn,” Jared growled as he wrapped his hand around his slick cock and began stroking it. He licked his lips before biting into his bottom one and leaning back against the headboard of the bed. “You wanna fuck me, you gotta play by my rules.”

 

“Aren’t I?” Kanye asked, licking his own lips and rubbing himself through the crotch of his pants. “I’m here, aren’t I? If you weren’t having it your way then I’d have dropped your ass off in a cab outside that shitty club you’d cornered me in. If you weren’t getting it your way then I’d have punched you so hard in your mouth the moment you started pushing up in my business where you didn’t belong. I wouldn’t have let you get me into this room and I sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting here watching you shove your fingers in your ass.”

 

“You act like you’re a fucking virgin when it comes to fingers in the ass, but you don’t have me fooled,” Jared said, looping his finger through the ring at the end of the strand of beads hanging out his ass and holding out a beckoning hand toward Kanye. “I’m not stupid. I know everything that happened with you and Weezy. Everything. And I also know you’ve been waiting on your chance to fuck me, you’ve just been too shy to ask for it.”

 

Kanye knew he should pull away and leave, that he should tell Jared to fuck off and stop talking about shit he didn’t know anything about, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Jared reached out for him and pulled him closer, his mouth closing over Kanye’s in a sloppy kiss as he worked at undoing his belt. And before he could bring himself to protest, Jared’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock and a moan slipped past his lips and into Jared’s mouth.

 

“You really are hot, y’know?” Jared breathed into the kiss, as he wound his black scarf around his neck and tied it at his throat. “You gonna keep your word and fuck me?”

 

Unable to resist any longer, Kanye bit hard into Jared’s bottom lip as he grabbed onto the ring at the end of the anal beads between Jared’s legs and jerked them out in one hard pull. Jared gasped, his eyes widening at the sudden feeling of his intestines emptying, but before he could protest Kanye grabbed hold of a handful of his hair, pushed one of Jared’s legs up to his shoulders, and push his cock into him in one hard thrust.

 

A deep moan left Jared’s mouth and his nails dug into Kanye’s skin, but Kanye didn’t flinch. He was finally inside and not willing to let anything spoil his pleasure, not even Jared’s momentary discomfort. Jared would get over it soon enough.

 

“How you like that, huh?” Kanye groaned, grabbing onto the scarf around Jared’s throat in one hand and gripping Jared’s hip with the other. “You’re going to pay for being such a fucking spoiled brat one day.”

 

Jared whimpered and tried to push Kanye off of him with his hands, but Kanye was both bigger and stronger than him, and Jared soon found himself helpless and completely at the other man’s mercy. Even if he wanted, he couldn’t free himself.

 

“Told you, you wanted to fuck me . . .” Jared managed to choke out, his nails digging into Kanye’s forearm and controlling exactly how tight Kanye could pull the scarf around his throat.

 

The harder Kanye thrust into him, the tighter Jared pulled the scarf until it was amazing he could even breathe at all. Kanye loved every moment of it, the way Jared gasped for breath between kisses, the way he squeezed his eyes tight, and the way his cheeks flushed ruby red, but Kanye still wasn’t in control, still lacked total power over Jared.

 

“Give me that,” he groaned, forcing Jared’s hand away and wrapping the scarf tighter around his fist. He gave it a final tug as he came, covering Jared’s mouth with his own, and continuing to fuck him through his orgasm.

 

Jared’s grip on his side faltered, his hand falling to his side, and Kanye ran his hand through Jared’s silky hair, his heart beat racing and breathing slowly calming down.

 

“You’re fucking amazing,” he breathed as he pulled out of Jared and turned his face toward him as if to kiss him again, but Jared didn’t respond.

 

With kiss swollen lips and a bruised throat, Jared Leto had been strangled to death by his own scarf, the very scarf Kanye still had wrapped around his wrist. And not knowing what else to do, Kanye pulled on his pants and ran.

 

*****

 

All his life Kanye had never allowed his mind to linger too long on religious guilt. He had accepted the fact that no one could be perfect and had no intentions of living like Christ. He had only ever wanted to live like Kanye, and had always been content doing so. It took killing Jared Leto to make him question whether or not the life he had been living was the right one.

 

It had been less than twenty-four hours since Weezy had found him passed out on his bedroom floor reeking of alcohol and his own puke, and the police had already come knocking several times. Kanye felt his heart go out for the younger man, and even though he’d been hiding in his bedroom like the coward he was at the time, he could still picture how Weezy had looked the last time the cops had cornered him -- glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, bottom lip held between his teeth, and eyes moving at a fevered pace as he searched the warrant for anything that might make it invalid, for anything that might protect Kanye even ten minutes longer. Kanye could also picture the way Weezy’s face would have lit up when he realized he’d actually found something, a small type-o in the address, and handed the warrant back to the officer in charge before once again shutting the door in his face.

 

Both men knew it was only a matter of time before they came back with the corrected warrant, and that now, in addition to arresting Kanye for murder, they could also come back with orders to arrest Weezy for interfering.

 

The mattress dipped a little as Weezy sat down next to him, his shoulders slumped and eyes downcast. He looked tired, more so than Kanye had ever seen him. He’d made a promise that he’d be there to help Kanye through anything, and Kanye couldn’t help but wonder if that promise was the only thing keeping him there. Weezy was no stranger to violence and loss, the teardrops on his face were enough proof of that even if he’d never personally confessed stories of his past to Kanye. But Kanye also knew how much Weezy despised and hated the ones guilty of the crimes that had taken his family and friends away from him.

 

It was then that he realized how much he missed being able to touch Weezy whenever he wanted, missed being able to lay him out and study every word, trace every line across his body. He remembered a time when the phrase “Fear God” had been almost permanently etched into his brain from all the times he’d watched Weezy’s eyes flutter shut, and wondered if Weezy was already secretly casting judgment upon him behind those same heavy eyelids. Kanye let his eyes roam down Weezy’s back, occasionally pausing to read bits and pieces of the prayer inked into his skin.

 

“…and not from troubles run.” The words reached Kanye’s ears before he even realized he’d whispered them out loud, and Weezy looked up at him for the first time since he’d sat down next to him.

 

The room fell silent as their eyes suddenly locked.

 

“Damn straight, I ain’t runnin’,” Weezy finally said, his hand closing over Kanye’s forearm and pulling him toward him. “You care enough ‘bout someone and you don’t ever turn your back on ‘em. You ain’t a man if you run out on someone at a time like this.”

 

For a moment Kanye thought Weezy was going to close the remaining distance between them and actually kiss him, but Weezy only nodded and gave Kanye’s arm a strange squeeze before suddenly standing up.

 

He pointed toward the living room with his thumb and chewed on his bottom lip a moment before smiling sympathetically at Kanye and once again leaving him alone with his thoughts. Kanye knew he wasn’t going to be able to take much more of this, and Weezy’s last words to him echoed inside his head long after he’d left the room.

 

It wasn’t fair for him to cause Weezy anymore trouble than he already had to deal with, but there was no way Weezy would leave without a fight. As long as Kanye was there for him to fight for, Kanye knew Weezy would stay by his side, fists clenched and teeth blared. Not even threat of jail time or losing his own life would be enough to get Weezy to stand down, and Kanye knew without a doubt that if he didn’t end things soon he’d have someone else’s pain on his conscious, that he’d be guilty for another friend, another lover’s life.

 

He couldn’t afford to be a coward any longer.

 

The shower curtain rod in Kanye’s bathroom was made of stainless steal and bolted to the wall with four inch long screws. When he’d had it installed, he’d been told it was a one of a kind piece of work, that it would stand up to anything thrown at it, that it could support the weight of six grown men if there could possibly ever be a need for it to do so. Kanye had laughed at the carpenter, telling him he didn’t care how strong it was as long as it could hold up a shower curtain, a few wet towels, and hell maybe even the occasional ninety pound stripper. It wasn’t until that moment that Kanye actually appreciated how strong the steal rod really was.

 

There was a closet next to the bathroom for linens and cleaning supplies, and Kanye let his brain switch to autopilot. He knew that over thinking what he was going to do would only end up hindering him, cause him to question his actions, make him second guess himself. And when he ripped the electrical cord from the back of the vacuum cleaner, his hands finally stopped shaking for the first time since he’d found himself staring back into Jared’s lifeless eyes.

 

His bare feet made a soft suction sound as he walked across the bathroom tiles toward the tub, and in the still house the sound was almost deafening, second only to the beating of his heart. The end of the cord caught the edge of the counter, knocking a tube of toothpaste off into the floor, and Kanye actually felt some kind of relief in knowing he would never have to pick it up.

 

As he climbed onto the side of the tub and began wrapping the cord around the shower curtain rod, Kanye thought of nothing but Jared. He focused on the way the corner of his mouth had turned up ever so slightly before he’d laugh, the way his blue eyes had sparkled as he stared him down in the bar, and how sweet his lips had tasted the first time he’d finally let him kiss him.

 

Kanye swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut against the memories. He remembered the way Jared had always seemed to show up out of no where, wrapping one arm around Kanye’s shoulders while keeping his other arm firmly grasping hold of his older brother. He remembered the way Jared had called him out of breath so many nights, frustrated with the day in and day outs of recording, and how he’d listened to him for hours in the middle of the night, despite never knowing where Jared had found his cell phone number or why he was even calling him in the first place. More importantly, he remembered the way Jared had put so much trust in him their final night together, how he had leaned on him and depended on him for a ride, and how he’d wrapped his arms around him and kissed him with everything in him even as he had wrapped the very scarf that had killed him around his throat.

 

It was with that thought in mind, that one last image of Jared alive and gasping for breath beneath him, that Kanye gathered up the courage needed and stepped off the tub’s edge. As the cord tightened around his throat, his toes barely touching the floor without quite connecting, hands franticly grasping everything from the excess cord to his own vomit stained t-shirt, Kanye finally allowed himself to think about what he was doing. And with no way to undo what he’d started, Kanye knew he was right where he belonged, then knew no more.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written 08/14/2009.


End file.
